


chlorine kissed summer skin (and made it mine)

by talking_tina



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Pillow Talk, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talking_tina/pseuds/talking_tina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick have a sleepover. Pete can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chlorine kissed summer skin (and made it mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction using fictional characters based in the likenesses of real people. Never happened, and I do not own these names.

Patrick looks young and awkward like most guys do at his age when Pete pulls up to the high school to pick him up--his backpack is hitched just a little too high, and his foot is tapping with excess energy, a side effect of what Pete was pretty sure was ADHD. He's wearing his glasses--awkward, wire, oval-shaped things that he had apparently only gotten the year before. His hair is stringy because he hasn't washed it in three days, but whatever. Pete still loves him, and his mind automatically dubs him, fondly,  _that dork_  when he catches sight of him.

"Hey, dork," he greets when Patrick throws open the door and crawls in with some difficulty, trying to arrange his backpack so his arms don't end up twisted in all the wrong ways. "Get shoved in any lockers today?"

A grin tugs the corners of Patrick's mouth up, and he shuts the passenger door before speaking.

"Oh, shut  _up_ ,” he says sheepishly, crossing his arms.. “I'm totally popular, you don't know what you're talking about.”

"Uh huh, keep telling yourself that, Urkel."

Patrick laughs and says, "Just  _drive,_  Pete, sheesh."

 

x

 

Pete ends up talking Patrick’s ear off, that night, ranting about the meaning of life and the end of the world and his relationship with Jeanae. Patrick drifts off, drooling on Pete’s pillow, sometime around one in the morning, sprawled across the bed in his underwear and a T-shirt. Pete trails off and some point and just watches him, eyeing the soft pale of his arm and the gentle rise and fall of his torso as he slept. 

He thinks about, maybe, a little bit, kissing the blonde awake and just seeing where that took them for the night (morning-week-month), but eventually he thinks better of it, lets his insomnia get the best of him and take him out the front door instead. It’s freezing out, and he hadn’t thought to grab a jacket, but he doesn’t want to go back to the house once he’s out. Instead he wonders around, shivering and squinting up at the inky-black sky, dark clouds blotting out all the stars.

 

X

 

“Patrick,” he whispers once he gets back. “Pattycakes. Cookie Jar. Rick ta’ Life. Love Bug. Apple of my eye-”

“ _What_ , Pete, I’m tryin’ta  _sleep_.”

Pete only giggles, warm breath brushing against the shell of Patrick’s ear and waking up the delicate pores there. He grins down at the mess of red-now-blonde-now-red-blonde hair for a moment before snuggling down next to him, nipping at the soft line of his jaw. “Hey,” he says, soft words against his skin. “Hey, you’re really cool, you know that?”

Patrick turns on his side to give him one of those  _looks-_ -eyebrows furrowed, one side of his mouth quirked into this strange grimace he pulls sometimes--and squints at him in the dark.

“You woke me up to tell me  _that_?” His voice is a little slow and thick with sleep, sort of deeper than usual, but it still makes Pete grin, because it’s so  _Patrick_.

Instead of voicing all that, he just pipes out a quick, “Yup,” and bites at the tip of his nose. “Only for you, Cookie Jar.”

 

X

 

The morning finds Pete on his side, arms and legs thrown over a softer frame, eyelids heavy and thick with lack of sleep. He doesn’t drift off, though, just watches as Patrick slowly makes his way back from the land of dreams, face twitching at all the right moments and a soft noise escaping his throat as his eyelids drag open.

He blinks dumbly at Pete, only a few inches away, for a few moments before his mind catches up with his surroundings. When it does, his eyebrows furrow and he pokes at Pete’s chest softly. “You watched me sleep?”

Pete only grins sheepishly. “Couldn’t get my brain to shut up. And you’re so cute when you sleep, anyway. You get all… small.”

The blonde only rolls his eyes, grinning softly, and mutters, “Creep,” into Pete’s pillow.

“Just for you, Love Bug,” he says and-without thinking-presses forward to kiss him.

Time freezes for a moment as their lips brush and Pete’s hand reaches for Patrick’s waist. It was short and chaste, but it was long enough that Pete could feel Patrick stiffen underneath his hand and he immediately pulls away, fearing the worst.

Patrick must see something in his expression because his eyebrows immediately shoot up and he reaches a hand out to grasp softly at Pete’s bicep. “Hey, no, don’t freak out, okay? S’okay, I promise. I’m not mad.” Patrick strokes the skin of his upper arm with his thumb, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Hey, I like you, okay? I do, I like you a lot. But--that, that can’t be a thing. And it’s not even, like, a straight guy thing, s’like--that’s not us, Pete, you know? We’re not gonna work like that.”

Pete bites his lip, lowering his eyes and nodding slowly.

“Hey--hey, I still love you, ‘kay? But--I mean, I’ve barely kissed any girls yet. I just don’t think our, um, relationship, should head in that direction. You know? Um.”

Pete nods again, tugs at the hem of Patrick’s shirt. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I kinda just forgot, I guess, for a bit, for a second. You’re pretty when you wake up, you know that?”

Patrick grins softly, hand dragging up to brush at Pete’s hair. “You call me pretty all the time, Pete. I’m not that pretty, really.”

“But you  _are_ ,” Pete insists, tugging more insistently at Patrick’s T-shirt. “You’re pretty for a  _boy_.”

“You said that the third time we saw each other,” Patrick recalls, absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I know,” Pete says, unfolding his hands from the fabric of his shirt and trying to smooth out the rumples he'd made instead. “But it’s true, y’know. You were really cute that day, though, ‘cause you were wearing that hat? The one I gave you. And that jacket, the one with buttons that didn’t snap.”

“I still have that jacket,” Patrick informs him.

“Yeah. And then, then you said that was ‘cause it was for fashion, not function. And then I said that it was like me, cause I was made for fashion, not function, too.”

Patrick frowns, hand stilling in Pete’s hair. “Yeah, but, you do have a function, though. You keep me grounded. I probably would’ve gone crazy or somethin’ if I had never met you.”

It’s Pete’s turn to frown, then. “You underestimate yourself, Cookie Jar.”

“You’re not so innocent, either, ya loser,” Patrick quips, hands now trying to flatten out Pete’s bedhead. “Hey, just shut your mouth for five minutes, ‘kay? Stop ranting about how pretty I am. I’m not that pretty.”

“But you  _are_ \--”

“Shush, Pete. I know.”

Pete just sighs, resigned, and snuggles forward into Patrick’s shoulder. “Sorry for kissing you.”

“S’okay,” Patrick reassures, hands now cradling his head. “It'll always be okay.”


End file.
